[A door creaks open - just a crack - into a darkened room.]

"Hello?"

[Silence. The door slowly opens mere inches more, revealing the silhouette of a head as it peeks into the gloom.]

"Anybody in here?"

[Silence. Again. The figure slips into the room, quickly closing the door, and begins speaking softly into the murk.]

"Alright. I know I could be saying this to nothing, to no one, but frankly, I can't bare to light the lamp and dash any hopes I might have of someone, anyone, being there to listen. I know I've been bad. That I haven't been around. That my absence implies that I no longer care, or worse yet, that I disdain those who do. Rest assured, that's not the case.

"Not that disdain isn't part of it. Surely it is. Just not disdain for you, or the others like you. Disdain for them. That's what I feel. Disdain and disgust, for them and what they've become.

"Still, that's no excuse. True, the disdain has led to inattention, and that seems only natural - there is, after all, a point at which it all becomes too much. But, silence? That's where the sin lies. That through all of this, as pieces of the thing we loved - still love, in fact - come falling down around our heads like so much tumbling rubble, that I stand here. Quiet. Mum. Dumb.

"Enough. I'm going to start stepping forward. I'm going to start speaking up. I'm going to start sounding off.

"I'm going to stop the hush."

[More silence. The door creaks open. The figure slips out. The door begins to close, but stops just short.]

"And maybe next time, I'll turn on the light."